OOC: This is a direct continuation of this.


"You're funny. You know that?" Kara jokingly asks, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a chortle before it erupted into a full on laugh. "You actually had me going for a couple seconds there."


I choke out an awkward chuckle, turning my head from her and slink further into the seat until all I can see is the cold grey PVC of the dashboard directly in front of me. She doesn't take her eyes off me, and despite the smile on her face, the look in her eyes tells me two things that I can't help anymore: first being that she doesn't believe me. Second, she wants me to tell her the truth.


With a couple of coughs intended solely to cover up the words that followed them, I let the words that have been dying to fall out of my mouth since she shot that crooked, confused, cynically disbelieving look at me fire out of me with the impact of serrated daggers that I hoped would stab all the way through her eardrums and embed into her brain: “I’m not joking.”

Her jaw drops slightly again; like it had when she saw my hand. Like when this entire conversation started. I don’t know whether this means she’s finally attempting to accept that as the valid answer it actually is, or if she’s appalled that I’d keep up a supposed “lie” even after she seemingly “saw through it”. I take a deep breath, ignoring the almost gag inducing amount of incense that flooded out of the Native American air freshener that she bought at some shop during her last trip to Chicago. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I drum my fingers against my patella and hum some familiar yet distant enough to cause a struggle to remember the name of tune while waiting for her to regain her composure.


The silence is deafening, even more tense than the one that elapsed when she thought I was joking with her. I swallow my own saliva in attempt to keep my throat moisturized enough so that it wouldn’t close up on itself. That, and if I had to say anything further, to keep my voice from cracking like an egg under this pressure.

“Seriously?”

I nod. The confusion on her face subsides, giving way to a… smile? She starts to laugh, slapping her hand against the steering wheel. Meanwhile, I reach a whole new level of glorious confusion at this reaction. My fingers stop tapping and instead grip around my kneecaps, just waiting for her to come back down to a state of relative normality.


“Okay, I have to hear this story,” she says, still laughing. Almost as if she realized that the car wasn’t moving, she jams the key into the ignition and starts the car at long last. The dashboard vibrates against my shins.

“What story?” I ask, still trying to deflect this line of questioning. I know at this point however, that resistance is futile and that it would just go by smoother if I just started talking right now, as fast as I could, and not caring if she caught it all the first time, because no matter what she was going to ask questions afterwards.


“Stop playing dumb, you aren’t good at it.”

“Thanks?”

“You know what I meant.”

“No, no I don’t. Care to elaborate?” I ask, feeling the nervousness float off me in favor of a confidence that feels long overdue. Where was it a few minutes ago? Why am I asking a question that I won’t find an answer to unless I decide to have a long, useless conversation with a shrink? Why did I just do it again? Criminy, I’m getting into a vicious cycle here.


Without thinking, I pick at one of the scabs, peeling the reforming skin off and exposing an open wound that brings back memories of last night: something I could very well go without right now. I stop and shove the scab back into place, hoping that it stays in place long enough to re-reform. I sort of wish I didn’t leave the coffee back in the Starbucks when we left. Not only because I wasted five dollars on something I took one drink of and subsequently used to produce the same effects of a liquid flamethrowers across the Vietnamese jungle that was the top of my tongue. Also, because I could really use something to drink right about now. Spit may be tasteless, but I’m getting sick of it nonetheless.


"How about I elaborate all over your face?" I look up from my hands to see that we're actually going down the road. This revelation almost makes me not even think about the laughably poor comeback and instead forces me to go through the whirlwind of emotions that stem from the possibility of heading back home. It is a shithole, because neither Kara or I are particularly what one would call clean freaks. Then again, anything's better than the toxic environment that is Starbucks.

"That might be the dumbest thing I've ever heard... in the last twelve hours."

"What gem of idiocy could eclipse that?"

"That has to do with the story you've been trying to force out of me."

"Does that mean you're finally gonna fuckin' spill it?"

I sigh, and nod. I don't even know why I'm so worried to tell it. It isn't like she's in a position to judge me, not without me bringing up a couple choice incidents where her judgment's been less than stellar. Namely, every day. She always does things like this and yet I'm the one almost afraid to admit one screw up.


"Well, I got a call at three in the morning-"

"That was why you were wandering around with the lights on last night?"

"No, I got interrupted during my midnight Zumba session. Of course that was why. Guess who called?"

"Umm..." She taps her fingers around the rim of the steering wheel as we pull up to a red light and her foot taps on the brake.

"Max."


"What did he do this time?"

"Got 'drunk', lost his car in a bet, and by the time I got there tried to get into a fist fight with the guy he lost his car to. I swear whatever it was he was drinking was Ginger Ale."

"Aren't you like, not allowed to drink?"

"Like I said, it was Ginger Ale."

"So? You didn't know what was in there."

"It's Max. He's too much of a wimp to even touch anything actually damaging."

"I thought he smoked weed?"

"He acts like he does. I bet you could sell him a baggie of grass and he'd believe it."

A moment of silence passes between us as the light turns green. She steps on the gas pedal and we're off down the road again.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"You aren't selling a baggie of grass to my idiot brother. Not without giving me half, of course."

"What the fuck?"

"It was my idea!"

"Not you!" She rolls down (more accurately, pushes the button that lowers) her window and leans her head and left arm out the window before shouting at the driver of the car in front of us: "Hey asshole! What the fuck was that?" Of course she had to class it up even further by flipping whoever it is off. Damn her temper.

"Anyway, you're actually down with that idea?"


"It'll help pay rent."

"Yeah, we need that. Especially when you can't find a fucking job."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"I always thought I was going to be the freeloader of us two."

"Do you wanna hear the rest of the story?" I ask, hoping to change the subject that I inadvertently veered our discussion into. Of course, being the curious girl she is, Kara nods furiously and the tensions about my long term unemployment and accompanying refusal to apply for Welfare are put to rest for now.

"Well, as I was saying; the idiot tries to get in a fist fight with this big guy. I guess he was the one who won his car, but he easily has six inches on Max, as well as at least fifty pounds. I pull up right as Max throws the first punch. It doesn't even faze the big guy. Not at all. Matter of face, it just pissed him off and he shoves the dumbshit halfway across the lot.

I get out and one of his friends sees me. He shouts something over to him and he just stops. Like, he was going to keep kicking Max's ass, but instead he just stands straight up like a statue. I still don't know what that was about. His friend grabs my arm and tries to drag me over to his big friend who probably would've killed Max if given the chance. Like an idiot, I scream that I'm going to call nine-one-one. The guy with my arm didn't take too kindly to that and swung at me, giving me this nice little mark here." I the hair along my left cheek away to reveal a still decent sized bruise on the side of my face. Kara, still paying attention to the road like a good driver, lets her eyes wander to where I flaunt the wound and winces slightly.

"Damn."

"Remember when Hannah hit me at Jacob's Graduation party?"

"And you freaked out? How could I forget?"

"Yeah, well I did the same thing to him."

"Oh my god..."

"Yeah, along the way I did manage to punch the ground and scrape up my hand. Though, I think I might've got these scabs from hitting him in the teeth. I can't remember everything about the fight. Too much adrenaline. Too much pent up aggression let out at once."

"I'll bet." Kara Livingstone: the sassiest person to ever exist.

"Oh, shut up."

"Nah, that's no fun."

"Whatever."

"By the way," she says, unbuckling her seat belt and opening her door. "We're home."

I look down to where my knees met my chest and realize that I didn't wear my seatbelt. I am such a rebel. Without any further examination, I open the door and press my feet against the asphalt of the parking lot, bringing the rest of my body with it. Slamming the door shut, I follow Kara down the unmarked path that led to the back entrance of our apartment building.